


Pure As The Driven Snow

by jackles67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-17
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-12 03:30:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/806673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackles67/pseuds/jackles67
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are snowed in, but they find a way to pass the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pure As The Driven Snow

**Author's Note:**

> [Contains things like felching, light bondage, spanking]  
> Originally written for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/72517.html?thread=25139525#t25139525) prompt over at the spnkink_meme
> 
> This is totally unbetaed and if you find errors feel free to let me know.

“Dean.”

“Dean.”

“Deeeeaaaaannnnn.”

“WHAT?” Dean yells, irritation flickering to life. Sam’s got that whiny tone that Dean can never quite ignore, no matter how bad he wants to.

“It’s snowing again.”

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock.” It’s been snowing on and off for the past two days, the long dirt road leading away from the cabin filling up with snow. Dean distantly wonders how the Impala’s gonna make it through that before remembering Dad’s probably not coming home anytime soon.

“Deeeaann.”

“I’m gonna throw you out in the snow if you keep that up,” Dean says, not bothering to lift his head from the couch. Sam’s skinny little arm shoots out from behind and a punches him in the shoulder. “Ow, quit it you freak.” Stupid sharp little knuckles.

“I’m boooooored.”

Dean sighs and reaches back, grabbing Sam by the shirt and yanking him onto the couch. Sam giggles and Dean can’t help a smile. He can’t blame the kid for being bored. There’s no tv, Dean’s stolen gameboy is broken, and Sam finished his one book two days ago.

Sam settles on top of Dean, a warm, squirmy weight, and Dean wraps his arms around him. Sam’s fidgeting and Dean can tell he’s building up to saying something. He thinks he knows what it is but he sort of wants to wait it out and see if Sam actually says it.

“So you know that thing we were doing the other day?” Sam says it real fast like maybe Dean won’t hear. Dean hides his grin.

“What thing?” he asks innocently.

“The thing with the magazine, when we were in Wisconsin, remember?”

“Sorry man, you’re gonna have to be more specific.”

“The thing where you - Oh my God Dean cut it out, I know you’re messing with me.”

Dean bursts out laughing until Sam digs a particularly sharp elbow into his ribs. The kid is all angles, it’s a fucking safety hazard.

“So you wanna jerk off again?” Dean asks when Sam’s curled back against him. There’s a pause before Sam answers.

“Could we maybe do something else, too? I mean I liked it, I really liked it but I wanna... Dean I wanna do...” Sam breaks off like he’s not sure where his sentence was going and Dean squeezes him reassuringly.

“Hey, we can do whatever you want kid. What are big brothers for?”

Sam snorts into Dean’s shirt.

“Probably not for this, Dean.”

“I’m showin’ you the ropes. Totally normal.”

“No it’s not.” The words are muttered, muffled in the worn-thin cotton of Dean’s Led Zeppelin shirt and he knows there’s going to be a little damp spot where Sam’s mouth is and he wants to kiss him, wipe away any guilt over this thing which is the least of their transgressions.

“Hey, you and me, we got a different normal than anybody else, okay?” When Sam doesn’t answer, Dean gives him a little shake until he nods. “So what do you wanna do?”

Sam shrugs with his whole body, shifting on top of Dean in that weirdly graceful way he has and Dean grins into his hair.

“Well, no offense dude but you’re kinda rank and -”

“Hey! You smell too!”

“Yeah, I know, we’re fucking disgusting so let’s get in the shower and then we’ll... do whatever.”

Sam nods and practically bolts for the bathroom. By the time Dean strolls in, Sam’s got one ankle still in his jeans, his shirt halfway over his head and his skinny torso, dipping to a slim waist and sharp hipbones, is on display for Dean. Sam’s tan always sticks around long after summer and Dean can’t help reaching out to run a fingertip from Sam’s collarbone to the waistband of his boxers, making a couple loops around one nipple. Sam squirms and shivers, finally tearing the shirt all the way off and kicking his pants away.

Sam steps into the shower and turns on the water, twisting back to watch Dean peel his own clothes off. It’s weird - they’ve been naked around each other a million times but in the past few months, Sam’s been  _looking_. Dean makes kind of a show of it just to see Sam’s eyes grow glassy and his cock thicken.

Dean washes Sam’s hair for him - kid’s still way shorter than him, but it won’t last - before running soapy hands all over him - soft, downy hair and baby-soft skin so good under his palms. Sam has to stand on his tiptoes to do the same for Dean while Dean tries to distract him with gentle kisses and not so gentle nips to his neck and jaw.

By the time they’re both clean, Sam is clinging to Dean like he’s going to wash down the drain and everywhere they’re touching is slippery warm skin and hot, rough kisses. Dean’s got a hand cradling the back of Sam’s skull, his own mouth forcing Sam to bend, to yield and open and give it up. His other hand is snaking down to slide his fingertips along the crease of Sam’s ass.

It’s something they haven’t ever talked about, the whole fucking thing being kind of an awkward topic until very recently. Dean has a feeling Sam really wants it though, and he’ll tell Dean if he doesn’t. He figures he should probably make sure of that, so tamping down any embarrassment at the tender and awkward moment, he pulls back to look Sam in the eye.

“You tell me if this goes too far, ‘kay? Anything you don’t like, you tell me and we stop, we do something else, whatever you want.” Dean expects Sam to roll his eyes or maybe even kick in him the shins, but the kid just nods eagerly, moving to get out.

“Hold up there,” Dean says, yanking Sam back against him. If Dad’s not coming back, they don’t have to worry about the hot water running out and that means Dean’s going to take full advantage of having Sam relaxed and pliant, all the skin-on-skin making him beyond comfortable.

He starts by rubbing around Sam’s hole, not over it. It’s not until Sam’s panting and digging his fingertips into Dean’s bicep that he even passes over the tight, sensitive skin. He can barely wiggle the very tip into Sam’s body, so he props Sam against the wall - kid’s gonna fall over otherwise - and kneels, pushing and pulling at Sam’s hips until he’s where Dean wants him - facing the wall, bent at the waist, feet spread enough for Dean to shoulder in between his skinny legs.

Dean licks over and over Sam’s hole until it starts to relax enough for him to push the tip of his tongue inside. He wiggles it experimentally, bringing an arm up to steady Sam when he feels his brother shudder and shake. Dean thrusts his tongue further in before bringing it out again, licking around the rim of Sam’s hole, getting it shiny and wet again. He pulls away to suck his finger, regretting the way their position makes it impossible for Sam to do it for him.

Sam shivers when the first finger pushes past the tight ring of resistance but he moans loud and sharp and reaches back to spread his cheeks for Dean, who runs his tongue along the rim as he fucks his finger in and out until it’s an easy smooth slide. He pushes a second finger in and catches Sam’s half-pained gasp, stilling his fingers until Sam’s making little whimpering sounds and pushing his hips back into Dean’s hands. After that, it’s a mind-spinning whirl of wet skin and tight heat, water sliding over both of them as Dean shoves fingers and tongue into his brother until his toes are curling and the noises he’s making aren’t entirely human. When Sam comes, his whole body tenses and Dean’s leaking cock jerks at the thought of that clench around it.

Dean jerks himself off kneeling at Sam’s feet, his come washed away down the drain with the last vestiges of hot water. They stumble out, fucked out and boneless, and collapse on the couch still wrapped in towels. It doesn’t take long for the cold air to hit their warm skin and Dean tosses a blanket over Sam before crawling to the small, shabby fireplace. It does its job just fine, regardless of the corners where bits of stone and wood are crumbling away, and Dean quickly gets a crackling fire going.

When he turns back, Sam’s sitting up, knees tucked under his chin and blanket wrapped around him. He’s staring out the window where big, fluffy snowflakes are still falling onto the several feet of glittering snow already on the ground. The wind is swirling the flakes so that in some places it looks like the snow is falling up or sideways and Dean can see Sam’s eyes tracking the movements, getting lost like he does sometimes when he stares out the Impala’s back windows or watches other kids at the park. Dean looks around and finds a napkin left over from the pizza they had last night, balls it up and lobs it at Sam’s head. It hits him square in the forehead and Sammy’s bitchface has always been better than his wistful one.

Dean climbs onto the couch and pulls Sam into his lap, both of Sam’s legs on one side of him and Sam’s head tucked into the crook of Dean’s shoulder. Dean pull the rough blanket over both of them and they rest there, Dean staring into the fire, Sam staring out at the snow, for what feels like hours but is more likely only minutes.

Still, it’s enough time for Dean to start to doze off and wake up to soft, wet lips mouthing over his erection. He smiles down at Sam, who peeks up at him through his bangs and carefully wraps his lips around the head of Dean’s cock. The sight has Dean’s cock twitching in Sam’s mouth and Sam starts a little, drawing a chuckle from Dean. It’s clear he has no idea what he’s doing but he’s so, so careful as he sinks down, trying to take as much as he can. He gags, of course, but only comes up for a second before going back down, that determined, stubborn look on his face. Dean would laugh if he weren’t busy gripping the couch cushion and trying not to thrust up into that hot, wet suction.

He has to bite his lip when tentative fingers touch his balls, rolling them in a way Dean would bet a hundred dollars is exactly how Sam likes it. Sam’s moaning around his dick and suddenly all Dean can picture is Sam, spread out on his tiny bed, touching himself with those long fingered hands. Sam tugging at his cock, Sam digging his toes into the mattress, pink-cheeked little Sam coming into his own fist while Dean’s in the shower or outside or fuck, asleep in the bed next to him.

Dean has to tug Sam off before he comes and Sam goes with a little whine of frustration.

“Wanna go to bed?” Dean asks, and Sam shakes his head.

“No heating in there.”

“Alright,” Dean whispers, leaning in to nip at Sam’s earlobe. “We gonna need lube?”

Dean can practically _feel_  Sam blush and his stammered “yeah” makes Dean’s hands tighten on him for a second. Dean pushes up off the couch and stumbles, legs tangled in the blanket, scrambling naked to the cold bedroom.

When he comes back, Sam’s kneeling on the couch, skinny knees together and cock curving up to brush against his flat stomach. He’s looking up at Dean, that wide eyed look that says  _I trust you_  and _I want you_  and _tell me I’m not a freak for this_  so Dean comes to stand before him, buries his fingers in Sam’s silky, still damp hair and tugs his head back until he’s arching up, body an obscene bow, knees shifting to spread all on their own.

The kiss is more a tangle of tongues and lips, Sam groaning into Dean’s mouth when Dean presses him back into the couch, sinking onto the cushion beside him and manhandling him into his lap. Sam whimpers at the brush of Dean’s cock against his soft inner thigh and Dean wraps a hand around Sam’s hip, holds him still while he brushes his other fingers over the Sam’s ass.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, a choked out sound, broken and needy. “Please, I need - need -”

“Shh,” Dean soothes, smoothing a hand over Sam’s flank and taking hold of both his hips, maneuvering him til he’s kneeling to the side of Dean, both knees pressed to Dean’s thigh. Dean presses a hand to Sam’s bony back until he bends, his slim chest dropping until it’s flush against Dean’s other leg and Sam is effectively bent over Dean’s lap, his cheek pressed to the couch, his breathing growing steadily rougher and both hands coming to rest at the small of his back seemingly of their own accord. The sight has Dean’s cock blurting precome and his stomach rolling with waves of arousal and excitement.

“You thought about this?” Dean asks. He only put Sam over his knee because he wanted to watch while he fingered him, wanted to see his own fingers disappearing into his brother’s pink hole and see it quiver and clench while he moved but now he thinks Sammy might want something else. His hands are loose fists, so passive, slim wrists together like they’re bound and Dean looks around to see if there isn’t something he could use. Sam’s hoodie is lying on the arm of the couch beside them and Dean knows Sam’ll bitch at him for taking the drawstring but he has other priorities right now.

Sam nods against Dean’s thigh and Dean wraps his hands easily around Sam’s narrow wrists just to watch him flush even deeper, his knees spreading and his back arching. Dean slides his other hand over Sam’s back, over his ass, cupping his cheek so his fingers dip into the crease. He squeezes lightly before using both hands to wrap the thick cotton drawstring from Sam’s sweatshirt around Sam’s wrists, quick and easy from years of practice.

He pauses before the knot and mutters a quick “Okay?”. Sam doesn’t answer so much as whimper and nod into the cushion, pushing his wrists back into Dean’s hands. Dean makes a simple slipknot, something easy to undo if he needs to, something Sam could undo in a heartbeat if he wanted. Sam tugs his wrists, trying to pull them apart, and moans when he can’t. He tilts his ass up in a clear invitation and Dean groans a little as he runs his palm over soft skin.

Sam’s ass is skinny but rounded, pale flesh with two small, flat moles on his left cheek. It’s funny how Dean already knows his body by heart and yet he lately feels like he’s seeing it for the first time. He never expected Sam to feel so warm, so incredibly good under his hands.

The first smack is loud and draws a sharp cry from Sam. The second has Sam’s hips undulating in little aborted figure eights until Dean grips his hipbone and forces him still.

“Be good and hold still for me, okay?” he asks, not so much to get the point across as to get Sam even more excited. He can tell it worked, both from the shaky breath Sam takes and the way he nods, so eager, so desperate to please. He murmurs a quiet “Good boy,” just to watch Sam go still, knees spread as wide as the couch allows, pink flush spreading down his torso.

Every loud smack is followed by a moan, or a whimper, or some other noise designed specifically to make Dean come all over himself. He’s trying hard not to rut up against Sam because he wants this to last, wants to give Sam everything he’s so clearly been needing. By the time Sam’s cheeks and upper thighs are bright pink, they’re both panting hard and Sam’s hands are clenched into fists, his legs trembling but holding his position. Dean brings a fingertip to Sam’s hole and Sam takes in a sharp breath.

“You remember what I said, right Sammy? Anything you don’t like, you tell me.”

Sam takes a moment to answer, like he’s drifted away into his own world and Dean’s dragging him back. When he does, though, it’s with a nod and a breathy “Yeah, Dean,” that has Dean struggling for control all over again.

He taps the finger he has on Sam’s hole, enjoying the surprised gasp before taking his hand away only to bring it down square on that tight pink pucker. Sam cries out, ass clenching and hips jerking away, but he immediately brings himself back into position, offering himself up for Dean. The movement drags Sam’s wet cock over Dean’s thighs and he resists the urge to reach under his brother, to play in all that precome and slide a finger over the head, to make him _whine_  with need.

Instead, he folds his hand so only three fingers are out -  _like a boyscout salute_ , he thinks, and snorts softly to himself before spanking Sam’s hole again. And again. Sam’s subtly writhing and trying very hard not to move, his hole growing more and more red and puffy by the second, until Dean brushes a fingertip around the rim and that light touch has Sam practically sobbing.

The time it takes Dean to get his fingers slicked is enough for Sam to compose himself slightly, his breathing slowing back to a somewhat reasonable rate even if Dean can still hear his heart beat rabbit-fast against his thigh.

He rubs around Sam’s sensitive hole for a moment before sliding his first finger all the way in. Sam tenses but takes it, tilting his hips even further up, and Dean wonders just what Sam would take for him. What kinds of things would Sam let him do, how far could Dean go and still have Sam bending over like this for him, moaning for it, open and willing.

The second finger goes in and it’s tight, it’s so tight Dean thinks he won’t get it past the second knuckle but he does and Sam is gasping, little hiccuping sounds escaping his throat as he trembles in Dean’s lap. Dean wants to ask how it feels but his voice is gone and he doesn’t think Sam could answer anyway.

He fucks Sam with two fingers, hard and then soft and then hard again, pausing once to find his prostate and then occasionally stopping to rub at it until Sam is mewling and squirming, every inch of him begging wordlessly.

When Dean gets a third finger in, Sam cries out and starts rocking his hips, shoving his slippery cock along Dean’s thighs. Dean yanks his fingers out and spanks Sam twice, hard, leaving lube-wet fingerprints on his ass. Sam lets out a startled yelp and immediately holds still.

It takes Dean three tries to get his throat working.

“You wanna come?”

Sam whines and nods hard.

“Ask for it.” He leans in close, puts his lips to Sam’s ear as he brings his fingers back to Sam’s hole, shoves all three in at once. “I wanna hear you beg me.”

Sam struggles to speak at first but once he gets it the words pour out of him like a broken dam.

“Please Dean oh God please please let me come, _fuck_  please, _please_ , Dean, please I gotta - I gotta -”

“Good boy,” Dean pants, still thrusting his fingers into Sam’s ass. He ignores the way his own hard cock is leaking precome onto Sam’s belly and reaches under the boy, wraps a hand around his cock and starts to stroke. It’s so wet and hard and hot and Sam’s making the most delicious whimpers, like it’s all too much and not enough so Dean tightens his grip a little.

“You can come.”

Sam comes and it’s sort of like he’s dying, the way his whole body goes tense and then jerks, the way his hips hump spastically into Dean’s hand and he groans deeper than Dean thinks a boy his age should. He collapses when he’s done, sliding to the floor and Dean tries to hold onto him but Sam wiggles out like he’s _trying_  to get away and for a moment Dean’s scared, _did I hurt him did I break him does he hate me_  but Sam’s just kneeling between Dean’s spread legs, wrists still tied behind his back and sweat-shower damp hair sticking to his forehead, getting in his red flushed face as he brings his mouth down on Dean’s cock.

It takes about two seconds for Dean to come, staring down at Sam’s pink lips wrapped around his cock, his wet eyes gazing up at Dean, spiky lashes and God he’s so gorgeous like this, on his knees with his shoulders back and his arms held behind him. He’s fucking perfect and Dean comes, half in his mouth and half across one cheek and down a cheekbone, bringing his own hand up to finish when he slips from Sam’s mouth ‘cause he wants to get it all over him, wants to smear it into his skin and make him wear it like a brand.

When he finally pries his eyes open, Sam’s untied and curled up next to him, wiping his own come away from Dean’s thighs with a wet washcloth. Dean has the odd feeling he’s supposed to be the one doing that, but he can’t seem to lift his arm to save his life. Sam tosses the washcloth to the floor and settles himself in beside Dean, prodding and pushing until they’re both lying on on the couch and the blanket covers as much of them as it can. Dean wraps an arm around him and kisses the top of his head.

“Good?” he asks, wincing at his gravel rough voice.

“Mmhmm,” Sam answers, tucking his face against Dean’s neck. Over his head, Dean can see the fire needs another log but there’s no way he’s moving; every inch where Sam’s warm skin presses against his feels amazing, perfect, _right_.

***

Sam’s still asleep when Dean wakes up and he slips out from under him, tucking the blanket back around him and stretching the kinks out of his neck. It’s not as dark out as he’d expect, and when he moves to the window he sees a huge full moon lighting up the snow. It’s still snowing steadily but the wind’s calmed down, the moon turning each snowflake into a tiny sparkling gem falling silently to the ground.

Dean gets the fire going again before checking their supplies. They’re out of milk and butter, so no mac n cheese. Chef Boyardee it is. He pulls on some pants before cooking - learned that lesson years ago - and throws Sam’s clothes onto the couch.

Sam wakes up in time to eat - probably smelled the food, kid’s always hungry these days - and they lie around the living room after, sitting in silence for a while until Dean sees Sam fidgeting in his chair.

“Wanna play twenty questions?” Dean asks. Sam frowns at him.

“Will you - will you fuck me?”

Dean blinks at him. He’s used to Sam making leaps in conversation but this is... Well.

“Right now?”

Sam nods. Something’s up, Dean can tell. He’s more nervous than he was earlier, even though Dean’s _told_  him it’s okay.

“Why now?”

Sam looks away for a moment, biting his lip and Dean just knows he’s debating his answer.

“I don’t know when we’ll get another chance.”

Dean snorts.

“Dude, we’re home alone together almost every night when Dad’s hunting.”

Sam nods and shrugs.

“But what if you - Dean, what if you change your mind? I know you fuck girls and what if you don’t wanna do it with me next time?”

Sam looks so anxious and he’s so fucking _young_  but he’s always trusted Dean, always believed that Dean would be there for him and Dean really doesn’t want that to change.

“You want me to fuck you because you think I’m gonna change my mind and suddenly decide I don’t want you?”

Sam blushes and fidgets, mumbling something under his breath.

“What’s that?” Dean asks, a little more sharply than he intends but _come on_.

“I just want you, okay Dean?” Sam snaps, hands balled into fists at his side. “I want you to always want me and I want you to always fuck me and I want you to be my first and I’ve wanted this for fucking forever and you just started wanting me a couple weeks ago!”

The silence is ringing after Sam’s outburst and Dean waits to see if there’s more before answering. His heart quickens at Sam’s words, at the meaning behind them and the emotion in Sam’s eyes, the doubt underlying all that want.

“C’mere,” Dean says softly, and Sam stares at him for a second before breaking and coming to sit on Dean’s lap. “You’re my little brother. You’re always gonna be my little brother, alright?”

Sam looks fucking heartbroken and Dean thinks back on what he just said.

“I didn’t mean - look, I wanna fuck you too, ‘kay? More than just one time,” he adds, holding Sam’s gaze until he looks like he believes it. “But I’m not gonna do that just because you think I’m gonna lose interest in a week or something.”

“Okay,” Sam says slowly, nodding to himself. “Okay. But can we still fuck?”

He looks like a pleading puppy and Dean laughs.

“Seriously? You heard what I just said, right? You don’t have to hurry this or -”

“I know,” Sam cuts in, shifting in Dean’s lap till he’s straddling him, wrapping his arms up around Dean’s neck. “I just want you to fuck me. Please?”

Dean just looks down at him, trying to discern if he really wants it.

“Pretty pretty please?” Sam asks, blinking those big eyes up at Dean and rocking his hips just enough for Dean to feel that he’s hard. Dean realizes with a start that he’s hard himself. Apparently having Sam on his lap will do that.

“Fine,” Dean says, like it’s a hardship, while his stomach leaps with excitement. “But you tell me if you change your mind, if it hurts too much, whatever, ‘kay?”

Sam nods like the overexcited puppy he is and stands up, pulling his pants down right there and looking around.

“Where do you wanna do it?”

Dean eyes the door to the bedroom, remembering what Sam said about the lack of heat. He guesses they’ll make their own, but... He gathers all the blankets from the couch and chair and lays them on the floor, a few feet from the fireplace.

“That’s romantic,” Sam snorts, digging in the couch for the lube. Dean elbows him.

“Okay, how do you want me? I read it’s easier if I’m on all fours, but I sort of wanna see you. Is this okay?” Sam’s talking a mile a minute as he arranges himself, naked and hard, on his back with his knees held up his chest. His hole is still a little redder than usual from earlier but it looks too tight to be possible and Dean has to press the heel of his hand to the base of his cock for a second.

“Yeah. That’s perfect, Sammy.” His voice is already dropping and Sam shivers a little. He looks so vulnerable and small, his hands white knuckled on his own thighs, holding himself for Dean and God, Dean can’t fucking wait. He shoves his own pants down and knees between Sam’s legs, one hand going straight to Sam’s cock while the other pushes Sam’s leg even higher, spreading him even wider. The lube is lying next to him and Dean dribbles a little straight onto Sam’s hole, rubbing at it with the pad of his thumb while he strokes Sam’s cock.

Sam’s so fucking _wet_ , precome beading at the tip of his cock only to slip down the length and Dean dips his fingertips in it, slides them over and over the slit until Sam is shaking. Dean finally bends down and takes his cock in his mouth, pushing his thumb all the way in just as he feels Sam start to tense. Dean works his mouth over Sam as he comes, rubbing at the bundle of nerves under the head with his tongue just to feel the way it makes Sam’s hole clench around his thumb.

Sam goes limp when Dean takes his mouth off him, a garbled, incoherent sentence falling from his lips that Dean doesn’t bother trying to decipher. He works Sam open, pushing his other thumb in Sam’s hole after wrapping Sam’s own hands firmly around his thighs. Sam’s obedient, holds himself open in spite of how close to unconsciousness he appears. Dean presses his thumbs as far in as he can get, pulls and tugs while Sam whines until he can just barely wiggle the tip of his tongue between them. It’s tight, even with Sam loose and relaxed like this, and Dean’s suddenly not sure he’s even going to fit. He works his tongue inside, plays at the rim and the sensitive skin just inside until Sam’s whimpering again.

Sam takes three fingers, takes them willingly even though he’s tighter than Dean can believe. He rocks down on them, tries to get Dean to fuck him harder, whimpers when Dean presses on the spot behind his balls with one thumb.

Dean uses his other still-lubed thumb to rub at Sam’s nipples, one, then the other, watching Sam’s whimpers grow into full out moans. When Dean starts hitting Sam’s prostate and getting a tight grip on his nipple, twisting a little with every stroke in, Sam’s moans turn to pleas.

“Fuck me fuck me fuck me, _Dean_ , please, c’mon, fuck me,” Sam chants, and Dean has to rest his forehead on Sam’s thigh and press a hand to his cock for a moment. He pulls his fingers out of his brother’s ass slowly, relishing the drag and cling of it. Then he’s slicking himself up, holding the head of his cock against that tight hole and pausing.

His cock is bare and he’s never done that before, never fucked someone without protection but this is Sammy and he wants to feel _everything_.

“Condom?” Dean asks tightly, barely holding back from pushing, pushing inside and just fucking taking.

“No!” Sam practically shouts, shoving his hips down so Dean’s cock starts to press inside.

It’s even tighter than it looked and every inch is too much heat, too much pressure, too much _Sam_. Sam’s shaking again but the sounds he’s making are still pleasure and Dean’s not sure he could stop right now if he had a gun to his head. The head of his cock breaches Sam, and then another inch, and then another, until Dean’s hips are flush against Sam’s ass and they’re both panting, Sam’s eyes screwed shut and sweat beading on his forehead.

Dean manages to wait until Sam relaxes, until he’s rocking his hips to get Dean moving again before he starts fucking him. Once he does, though, he’s completely lost to it. That tight ring squeezing along him everytime he pulls almost all the way out and back in again, the sweet drag along his cock and the way Sam can’t help squeezing and clenching around him over and over again.

Sam seems equally overwhelmed. He’s mumbling an incessant litany of curses and “oh God” and “Dean”, over and over until Dean changes the angle again, hard, shallow thrusts that have Sam tensing around him, pushing his head back into the blankets, opening his legs impossibly wider. Dean watches him carefully, wondering if he’s going to come just like this with Dean’s cock skating over his prostate on every thrust, before he realizes Sam’s just saying one word now. _Please_ , just repeating it it softly with every breath and Dean’s stomach clenches, pleasure threading through his limbs and he wraps a hand around Sam’s cock, jerking him fast, slipping his thumb over the head on every pass because he’s gonna come and and really, really wants Sam to come on his cock.

Sam loses it just before Dean, his body clamping down, every muscle rigid and his jaw clenched around a long moan. Dean works him through it until he’s coming too, shoving in as deep as he can and going still, his cock throbbing and pulsing inside Sam.

He barely holds himself up from collapsing onto Sam, pulls out with a whimper from his brother and lays down next to him. When Dean opens his eyes, he notices Sam’s still holding his legs open. He sort of wants to make fun of it, but then he leans over and sees a tiny trickle of come escaping from Sam’s red, puffy, fucked out hole and he can’t resist.

One finger disappears so easily into Sam’s slippery wet hole and it’s so fucking _hot_ , so Dean pushes another one in, playing in his come. He looks up to see Sam staring down at him, slitted eyes dark, so Dean draws his fingers out and brings them up to Sam’s lips. He coats them with come before slipping them inside, feeding them into Sam’s mouth until he’s licked them clean.

Sam tries to follow Dean’s fingers when he withdraws them so Dean reaches down and pushes them back into Sam’s ass, crooks them and rubs around Sam’s insides before pulling them back out, taking as much come with them as he can manage. He feeds it to Sam again, making sure it’s messy, making sure some of it drips down Sam’s chin. He realizes a few minutes in that he’s murmuring to Sam, quiet words against Sam’s skin.

“Good boy, such a good boy, Sammy. Take it so good, wanna come all over you next time, yeah?”

Sam hums around the fingers in his mouth in response and Dean replaces them with his tongue, licking into Sam’s mouth and tasting his own come. He can’t resist pulling away to lick at Sam’s hole, pressing the tip inside to delve out another taste and bring it to Sam’s mouth. Sam squirms every time and it’s like a drug, he doesn’t really want to stop even when there’s no come left and Sam is whimpering a little. He ends up on his side, kissing Sam, trying to lick every drop out of him while his fingers play in Sam’s fucked out hole.

He’s bone tired but he doesn’t want to stop and he can tell Sam doesn’t want to either - he’s hard again and Dean just wants to keep fingering and fucking and licking him forever. Sam finally groans and lets his legs down, turns over so he’s on his stomach and spreads his legs.

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs. “Legs were gettin’ tired.”

Dean smiles. Of course Sammy’s fucking insatiable, of course his little brother doesn’t want to stop even when he looks like he’s half asleep. Dean pushes his fingers back in, lazily fucks them in and out, thumb rubbing at the rim. When Sam’s breathing starts to even out, Dean tugs his fingers out but Sam whines, canting his hips up.

“What, you wanna sleep with them in you?” Dean asks, and Sam nods against the bunched-up blanket he’s using as a pillow.

“Please, Dean. Just... just for a little bit?”

Well, Dean’s never been able to resist _that_  tone, so he drapes himself half over Sam and slides his fingers back inside, as far as he can go. Sam hums and wiggles a little before settling down. It’s probably one of the weirdest non-hunting things Dean’s ever done but it doesn’t  _feel_  weird, feels tight and warm and like he’s connected to Sam somehow, like Sam needs him. Dean drifts to off to sleep half hard and curled around his brother, already thinking of all the things they could do when they wake up.

 

End.

 


End file.
